


All We Know Is Falling

by Duran



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Light Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3632283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duran/pseuds/Duran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's not sure if it’s worth it to keep trying anymore. [ONE SHOT]</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Know Is Falling

Disclaimer: _Frozen_ and all associated characters belong to _Disney_

A/N: Semi-beta’d. All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

**-x-**

This is slowly becoming a routine.

You’re at your kitchen table, chin resting on your open palm as you stare at the empty seat in front of you. A plate of chicken parmesan –her favourite –sits in front of the empty seat; the food having gone cold a long time ago –you’ve already lost track of the time. Your right hand is curled around a tumbler half full with whisky, the nearly empty bottle sitting by your elbow.

Nights like this are becoming the norm; you waiting alone in your apartment, for your better half to return (from God knows where) while you drink away the empty feeling that is left behind. You let out a small chuckle as you raise the tumbler to your lips. The amber liquid leaves a burning sensation down your throat as you drink gulp, after gulp.

Honestly, you’re not even surprised anymore that she’s late to come home –it’s actually more disconcerting that you’re not feeling anything at all.

You jump slightly as the shrill sound of the phone ringing cuts through the silence. The chair scrapes noisily against the floor as you push away from the table.

Picking up the phone you squint at the familiar number displayed on the screen.

‘Hello?’ Your voice is hoarse even to your own ears.

The sound of light breathing can be heard on the other side before a familiar voice responds.

‘Hey.’

Closing your eyes, a warm feeling flows through you. ‘Hey,’ you reply breathily.

‘I’m sorry I’m not home yet, things got a little busy at work.’

You nod absentmindedly, fully knowing that she can’t see you doing so. ‘That’s ok.’ You cross one arm across your waist. ‘Did you have anything to eat?’

You can hear her shuffle slightly. ‘Yeah I just grabbed something with my colleagues. Did you?’

Eyeing the food sitting at the table, you smile sadly. ‘Yeah, ordered pizza, you know junk and all that.’

‘Of course you did,’ you can practically see the scolding look on her face.

A pregnant pause settles between you two, the only sounds being that of your breathing and the ticking of the clock in the living room. When did things start to become like this? When even having a simple conversation became too awkward and filled with (unspoken words) silence.

‘I should be home soon.’

‘Ok.’ Swallowing the growing lump in your throat your grip tightens on the phone. ‘Elsa…I…’

(Miss you.)

(Love you.)

‘I…I’ll see you soon,’

Her footsteps stop for a brief moment. ‘See you soon Anna,’ she whispers softly, hanging up the phone shortly after.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, pressing the phone tightly against your ear, listening to the dial tone buzzing through the ear piece. Exhaling slowly, you put down the phone with a quiet _thud_ and walk back towards the table. Stopping at the end of the table, you frown as you stare down at the plate of food. So much for trying to do a good thing right?

Picking it up, you over to the kitchen and dump the meal into the trash can –such a waste really –placing the plate into the sink. Your motions are methodical as you wash the plate, taking extra care to make sure all the suds are washed away as you rinse it under the lukewarm water. Placing the plate and utensils into the dish-rack to dry, you glance around the kitchen to make sure nothing is out of place. She never really liked messes so you did your best to keep everything organized.

Plopping back down in your seat with a heavy sigh, you tilt your head against the back of the chair, covering your eyes with your arm to block out the light shining down on you–it’s getting very hard to keep the tears at bay –as you breathe in deeply. This is becoming such a routine –but you have no idea how to break it.

Slowly uncovering your eyes, you reach over for your nearly forgotten cup and toss back the last bit of your drink. The alcohol leaves a warmth in your chest, and brings tears to your eyes as you resist the urge to gag. Glancing to your right, you pick up the bottle of whiskey and realize only a small amount remains.

Shrugging, you pour the rest of it into your cup. No point in letting anything else go to waste tonight right? You take a sip, and then another.

Besides, one more drink can’t hurt.

**-x-**

You decide to meet at the park. Glancing down at your watch, you frown as you notice that he’s late by fifteen minutes –of course he’s late, the guy is never one to be on time. Sending him a quick text, you lean back on the bench, the cold seeping through your clothes and into your skin.

The weather man had lied today, saying it would be a brisk plus ten degrees, and yet it felt closer to plus two. Cursing under your breath you pull your hat more securely over your ears as another gust of wind causes your body to tremble in response. Clearly you should have paid more attention to Elsa’s warnings as she left your apartment earlier that day. She had even left you a pair of gloves on the table, just in case you needed them because you had misplaced your other pair a couple of weeks ago.

But, due to the pounding in your head (you shouldn’t have drank that much the night before) the gloves had slipped your mind and you had left them back in the apartment. Rubbing your hands together for some semblance of warmth, you quickly stick them into your jacket pockets hoping that would help abate your shivering.

Breathing through your mouth, you watch in mild fascination as your breath mists in front of you, dissipating instantly into the cool autumn air. Kristoff really needs to hurry up –freezing your ass off is not your idea of fun really.

Before you can take out your phone to send off a really crude message, a body plops down beside you on the bench; his sudden appearance causing you to jump slightly in your seat.

‘Yo,’ he throws you a lopsided smile as he hands you a cup of coffee as a peace offering.

You take the cup gratefully with both hands, the warmth of the drink a welcomed source of relief from the cold.

‘You’re late,’ you take a sip of the drink, only to grimace at the bitter taste.

He rubs the back of his neck, a bashful expression on his face.

‘Sorry bout that, Grand pabbie needed some help at the store before I left,’ he takes a swig of his own drink, only to raise his eyebrow in question at the look of disgust on your face. ‘Something not to your liking there princess?’

Shaking your head slightly, you take another gulp of your drink and try to ignore the taste that lingers on your tongue.

‘No, it’s fine just…this is a regular. I usually take three sugars and one cream in my coffee.’

He lets out a short bark of laughter and pats you roughly on the back, the cup almost falling out of your hands, as some of the warm coffee inside spills out.

‘Should have known you’d have a sweet tooth, seeing as how you love chocolate so much.’

‘Thanks,’ you scowl, wiping your hand on your jeans. He smiles cheekily in return –it never ceases to amaze you as to how happy he can be.

He takes in a deep breath of fresh air, his eyes closing momentarily as he exhales. It’s moments like this that you cherish the most. Sure it’s cold as hell, but being here with your best friend brings you a sense of peace –something that seems to be missing for the past year.

‘So how’re things going?’

You mull over his words carefully, not really sure how to respond to such a simple question. ‘Things are…’you pause and bite your bottom lip in thought. ‘Good.’ The answer sounds lame even to you.

His brows furrow in question. ‘Just good?’

Shrugging your shoulders, you play idly with the lid of your coffee cup. He nudges you with his elbow at your lack of response, so you sigh and turn your head towards him in exasperation.

‘What more can I say? Classes are good, work is good…everything is…good.’

‘And what about Elsa?’

You swallow hard as your mouth suddenly goes dry. ‘What about her.’

He drains his cup in one mouthful, crushing the cup in his hand and tossing it into the empty trash can beside the bench. You watch as the cup hits the rim, and for a split second you think that it will fall out, before it falls into the can.

‘Well is she good?’

You tap your cup against your lips, pondering over his question. You can’t say yes. Yes would mean that everything is ok –when clearly everything is not. And you can’t say no. No would be admitting that something is wrong –and you’re not ready to admit that.

‘I…’you lick your lips and stare off into the distance. ‘I don’t know.’

‘So you’re fighting then.’

‘Yes…no…’ To be fighting you actually have to be talking. ‘I don’t know.’

Leaning forward, you rest your elbows against your knees, the coffee cup still held reverently between your hands. By now the coffee has gone lukewarm, but the act of holding something in your hands brings you some form of comfort. You’re not ready to talk about this. Well more importantly this isn’t a conversation you want to have but knowing Kristoff (Good old Kristoff) he’ll find a way to pry the words out of you.

Without warning the blonde lashes out and knocks the cup out of your hands. You watch in disbelief and growing irritation as the remaining liquid splashes out onto the concrete, the now empty cup lolling around on the ground.

‘What the hell was that for?!’

For a split second you want to hit him. Hit him hard because for one he wasted a perfectly good coffee –even though it tasted goddamn awful –and because at this point you feel as if by hitting something you’d be able to get rid of that unsettling feeling in your chest. You just want to feel normal again.

You want things to be normal again.

Instead you close your eyes and count to ten, trying to regulate your breathing and to calm your racing heart.

‘I did that to prove a point.’

Opening your eyes, you glance over at him. He has his arms crossed over his broad chest, a grim look on his face as he stares you down.

‘And what may that be?’ You scowl as you get up to pick up the soggy cup from the ground. Crushing it in one fist you toss it over the garbage can, only to have it bounce off the rim and fall haplessly back to the ground. An annoyed groan escapes your lips (god can’t anything go right for once.)

‘Well for starters, the Anna I know from one year ago would have reacted differently. The Anna I know would have probably hit me back, or at least annoyed me into buying her a replacement coffee but you…’he waves his hand dismissively over your form. ‘…It’s like you don’t care anymore. Like your will to…fight…to do _anything_ is gone.’

Reclaiming your spot beside him, you lean forward and bury your face into your hands.

‘I’m just tired right now ok. Just so very tired…’

(Of everything.)

‘…I had a rough night.’

He places a comforting hand on your back, rubbing in slow circles. If there is one thing you can count on Kristoff for, it’s a pat on the back and a shoulder to cry on. Seeing as you’re not crying –or trying very hard not to –a pat on the back will suffice for now.

‘If you ever need to talk about… _anything_ , you know I’m here for you right.’

You nod, refusing to look up at the moment –you’re just not quite ready yet. A comforting silence befalls the two of you. The quiet rustling of the leaves and the sounds of people milling about in the park the only things that can be heard.

‘Do you remember when you first met Elsa?’

His question is abrupt and so sudden. Peeking at him through your fingers, he catches your eye and gives you a small smile. You lower your hands and rest your chin in your open palms.

‘You couldn’t stop talking about her. Every day you would ramble about some girl you had met in science class,’ he chuckles, ‘you just wouldn’t shut up. Elsa this, Elsa that…God those were the worst.’

He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. ‘Do you remember the first thing you said to her? You went up to her, shaking like a new born calf and said…’

‘Beautiful…’ you breathe; your heart clenches.

‘At least that hasn’t changed.’

You quirk your brow in question.

‘Six months. It’s been six months since I’ve seen you smile, a real smile that is. But that look in your eyes, the one you get when you talk about her…that hasn’t changed.’

Before you can respond, he gets up from his side of the bench, brushing down his pants and then putting his hands in his pockets.

‘I don’t know about you but I’m freezing. Let’s get out of here, I’ll buy you another coffee.’

Fixing your hat so that it sits more securely on your head, you get to your feet and stand beside him. ‘Lead the way oh fearless leader.’

As you take off in some random direction, falling into step easily with Kristoff you know that this isn’t the last time you’d talk about this. While he would never pry, Kristoff did pride himself as being somewhat of a love expert. For now you would enjoy his presence, taking reassurance that maybe things would be ok.

(They just had to be.)

**-x-**

It’s dark when you get back to the apartment.

You’re not sure how long you stayed at the bar this time. One drink became two, two became three. You just drank, and drank and drank in order to fill the void. To make yourself feel something again. (In order to forget.) Last time you checked it was 2 am, you’re not sure how much time has passed since then.

Through some sort of miracle you managed to get the door open, stumbling slightly over a pair of heels laying haphazardly in front of the entrance. Seriously, she berates you over keeping the apartment tidy and yet she can’t even put her shoes away? The nerve really.

Putting your shoes (neatly mind you) on the matt beside the door, you make your way to the kitchen with every intention of pouring yourself a glass of water. Surprisingly enough a full glass waits for you on the kitchen counter.

Without a second thought you grab the glass and drink greedily of the cool, refreshing liquid. Turning on the faucet you gulp down another glass, wiping the excess drops that escapes your lips with the back of your hand. The pounding in your head has subsided a little (thank God for small mercies right?)

Making your way to the bedroom, you take extra care to make as little noise as possible. Elsa always woke up early to go to classes before taking her shift at work, you didn’t want to disrupt her much needed rest.

Easing the door open you take a quick look around the room. Of course nothing is out of place, other than the pile of what you assume to be clothes by the foot of the bed. Your eyes finally land on the figure curled on top of the mattress.

While Elsa tried her best to present herself of someone possessing sophisticated grace, her sleeping habits begged to differ. Elsa is, for a lack of a better term, a kicker in her sleep. You remember one memorable event when you first moved in when she managed to knee you in the face (to this day you still have no clue how she did it.) Going to class the next day with a black eye was…quite the experience.

A small smile makes its way to your lips as you notice the blanket that she probably kicked off hanging precariously at the edge of the bed. While the cold never really bothered her, she had curled up into a ball on her side. Most likely in an attempt to keep warm.

Shuffling over to her side of the bed, you crouch down so that you’re at eye level with her sleeping face. Crossing your arms over the small space on the mattress between you, you rest your chin on your folded arms and study her.

Elsa is what most would consider a classic beauty. High cheekbones accentuated with a small smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose bride. While esthetically she is gorgeous, what really got you when you first saw her were her eyes. And no it wasn’t the colour (which you would argue are the iciest blue you’ve ever seen) but it was the look in them. The look of someone lost and lonely.

(Someone like you.)

Her breathing is slow and even, the content expression she has giving her a more youthful look. A lock of her platinum blonde hair falls loose across her closed eyes. Without a second thought you reach out to push the stray lock back but stop, your fingertips ghosting lightly over her skin.

Clenching your hand into a fist, you unsteadily get back to your feet, breathing rapidly through clenched teeth.

You can’t.

(Why is everything so fucked up?)

Grabbing the edge of the blanket you pull it up slowly her chin, making sure that she is fully covered. Backing up, you make your way to the bedroom door, your hand gripping the doorjamb tightly.

‘Goodnight Elsa.’ You whisper into the dark room. Her quiet breathing is the only reply you get.

Closing the door gently with a soft _click_ you make your way to the couch, throwing yourself onto it. Curling onto your side you close your eyes and wish the pounding in your head (and your heart) would just (fucking) stop.

(You’re not sure if it’s worth it to keep trying anymore.)

**-x-**

Hans is a good guy.

He would lend you notes when you would fall asleep in class, because honestly staying awake at 8:30 in the morning is torture. Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to try and teach calculus at that time anyway? He would give you coffee when you forgot to bring one, but like Kristoff he would always get it wrong somehow. (Seriously 3 sugars, one cream isn’t that hard to remember, but it’s the thought that counts right?)

Plopping down in your usual seat at the back with him, you give him a grateful smile as he hands you a paper cup. You take a sip and cringe. (A double-double but eh, close enough.)

‘Still not right?’ He says with a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling in mirth.

‘Close, but no cigar. Thanks though.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ He turns his attention back to the front of the class, as the professor walks in to begin the lesson. His pen flies over the paper as he scribbles furiously. You know you should be following suit, but honestly you just can’t seem to give a damn about…what the hell is this lecture about again? (Ugh, whatever you’ll just read the textbook or something.)

After a couple of minutes you take out your own notebook, doodling random things in the margins of the page as you try your best to jot down a couple of notes. A yellow sticky is placed idly on top of the snowman you were drawing, one word – _Lunch?_ –with a smiley next to it written on the yellow square.

Peering at him from the corner of your eye, you take note of the look of concentration on his face as he tries to pay attention in class, and the small smile curling at the corner of his lips.

Writing out your reply – _Sure_ – you stick the note onto the back of his hand.

You’re not sure when the professor dismisses the class, but the shuffling of papers and chairs breaks you out of your boredom induced stupor. Frowning at your half-assed attempt at taking down notes –you’ll definitely need to read your textbook at some point this week –you begin packing up your things.

Hans gets up beside you, stretching his arms over his head as he groans lowly.

‘Want to hit up Oaken’s for lunch then?’

Snapping your bag shut, you sling it over one shoulder. ‘Sounds good.’

The walk there is short and thankfully you remembered to bring your gloves this time. Well more like you found them sitting in the bottom of your bag –probably Elsa’s doing (she’s always looking out for you.)

The familiar sight of Oaken’s bar reaches your line of vision, and you let out a sigh of relief. Yes, it may not be as cold as the past few days but damn it, you are a summer child you are not cut out for this. Saying a small _thank you_ to Hans as he opens the door for you, you take off your gloves and stuff them into your pocket, flexing your fingers in order to regain some feeling in them.

Oaken waves at you from behind the bar, which you return with a small wave of your own. Spotting a booth by the far side of the bar, you make your way towards it, the sound of Hans footsteps trailing behind you.

Dropping your bag onto the seat, you scoot into the booth and start removing your coat; Hans following in kind on other side of the table. You bite back a chuckle at the sight of Hans’s wayward hair; his usually impeccable coifed hairstyle ruined by the toque he was wearing seconds ago. Oaken comes round with a set of menus, and some water.

Picking up your menu, your eyes scan through the different lunch options. Hrm, feels like a soup kind of day but who are you kidding, you’re probably going to skip that and go straight to the desserts.

‘So what are you getting?’

‘Uh…’your eyes zero in on a piece of chocolate cake, but of course you should eat something substantial before even thinking about dessert. Elsa would definitely not approve if she was here. ‘Probably a burger or something.’

You peer over your menu, and see him flipping through his.

‘Yeah, that sounds good.’

Oaken returns a few minutes later to take your orders. As soon as he leaves, you slump forward in your seat, your arms resting on top of the table.

‘You ok?’

‘Hm?’ Glancing up, you take note of the worried look on his face. ‘I’m fine, just didn’t get much sleep is all.’

His brows furrow in concern. ‘You sure you don’t just want to go home? We can rain check if anything.’

You wave a hand dismissively. ‘Nah don’t worry about me.’

You can still feel his eyes on you, probably uncertain as to how to approach the situation but glad that he isn’t trying to prod into your business. ‘I’m…good.’

(You wonder if you say something enough times when it’ll start to become true.)

Small talk comes easy between the two of you. Unlike Kristoff who knows you almost as well as Elsa does, Hans doesn’t know all of your tells (yet.) He can’t see behind your fake smiles and false sense of bravado. He laughs at your jokes, and you try to laugh at his. In this moment you can be someone you’re not, and pretend that everything is ok. Or as close to being okay as it can be.

At one point in time, if you hadn’t met Elsa, you could see yourself with someone like him. For one thing he isn’t that bad looking, quite the contrary he is quite the looker. Sure he does has his moments when he can be an asshole –you recall quite clearly that time he had a smug look on his face when he found out he got a higher mark than you on the midterm. A quick punch to the shoulder wiped that smile right off his face.

It’s moments like this, when things seem to be normal that you wonder if maybe that’s the problem. You’ve only ever been with Elsa. It’s been Elsa since the very beginning and maybe this is just life’s way of telling you that you need to…try something new. That you’re getting bored. (That you’re falling _out_ rather than falling _in._ )

And just as sudden as that thought would pass through your mind, you would remember that no, this is it. _She_ is it for you. No one will ever know you as well as Elsa does. Sure you’re hitting a rough patch right now but that’s normal for most couples. (Right?)

A warm hand on your breaks you out of your quiet musings.

‘Hey, you alright?’

Hans is giving you that look again. That concerned look that leaves your throat feeling dry.

‘I…I’m fine,’ you chuckle weakly. ‘Sorry I just haven’t been getting that much sleep lately.’

His hand tightens on top of yours, the warmth of his touch comforting. ‘Problems at home?’

‘You could say that,’ you reply softly. Sighing you push away from the table, falling back into the booth cushions as you wrap your arms around yourself. ‘Have you ever felt that no matter what you do, you just can’t get anything right?’

He gives you a reassuring smile. ‘All the time.’

‘I just…I just want things to be better.’ Closing your eyes you tilt your head back. ‘God I’m so stupid…’

The feeling of a foreign hand cradling your cheek causes you to snap your eyes open. Hans’s hand is different from Elsa’s. Her hands are smooth and soft, while his are rough and calloused. Their hands might be different but their touch is the same. The intent to bring comfort is there, and for a moment you forget that it’s Hans sitting across from you and imagine it to be her. (God how you want it to be her.)

When he begins to lean in your mind goes blank. You humor the idea of just letting it happen. It’s just a kiss right, it’s not like Elsa will ever find out. What she doesn’t know will never hurt her.

But you would know (and the idea of hurting her kills you.)

‘I have a girlfriend,’ you whisper right before his lips touch yours. He stops, his eyes going wide. ‘I…I have a girlfriend and I…’

(Need her.)

‘…Can’t do this.’ You gently remove his hand from your cheek and lean back. ‘I’m sorry Hans.’

(I’m sorry Elsa.)

‘I…I think I should go,’ you calmly put your coat back on, making sure to leave some cash on the table to cover your half of the bill. He swallows and nods mutely. ‘I’m sorry I ruined lunch.’

You turn on your heel to leave, but a hand at your wrist stops you.

‘Anna, I’m sorry…I –I don’t know what came over me,’ he pleads, his eyes filled with regret. ‘I…I care about you and I’m sorry if I over stepped my –’

‘It’s ok,’ you cut him off, placing your hand over his and giving it a squeeze. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Right.’ He lets go, and runs a shaky hand through his hair, an unsure smile on his lips. ‘So I’ll see you in class?’

‘Yeah. I’ll see you.’ You jerk your head in a slight nod and make your way to the exit, making sure to drop a quick apology to Oaken for leaving before he could serve your meal.

It may not be Hans’s fault, but it definitely feels like yours.

**-x-**

You’re drunk.

Ok…correction you’re not drunk, you are completely, utterly, fucking smashed. (Wouldn’t your mother be proud of you now?) Somehow by the end of the night you had found your way back to Oaken’s, the bar mildly busy. You sit by the bar, Olaf –the barkeep –keeping tabs on you as you order drink after drink.

Slamming the empty glass onto the bar, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, pressing your knuckles to your lips in an attempt to not throw up. Waving Olaf over, he eyes you warily as you ask politely for another drink –well as politely as a drunk 22 year old could ask that is.

‘Are you sure you want another? Maybe you had enough for tonight…’

‘Maybe you should just get me another drink,’ the words tumble out of your mouth as you struggle to keep your head propped up. The alcohol is leaving a burning sensation in your stomach and any attempt to move is making you more nauseous by the second.

The world really needs to stop spinning.

Another drink is placed in front of you, and you bob your head sluggishly in thanks.

‘I’m worried about you Anna. Are you sure you’re ok.’

‘Why…does everyone keep asking me if I’m ok? I’m fucking peachy,’ you growl, sloshing your drink all over your hand as well as the bar top. ‘Whoops, sorry bout that.’ You make an attempt to wipe the spilt alcohol with the sleeve of your sweater, only to have Olaf wave you away and clean up the mess himself. ‘I’m fine ok… _we’re_ fine. Why does everyone keep thinking we’re not?’

The vibrating of your pocket interrupts you mid rant. Pulling out your phone, you squint hard to make out the name flashing across the screen. You snort in disdain as you place the phone face down on the bar top. Kristoff has been calling you all night and you, being the stubborn person you are, chose to ignore his calls and messages. Resting your head against the bar top, you close your eyes and inhale deeply –the smell of various different alcohols and stale cigarettes filling your lungs.

‘Is that Kristoff again? You should pick it up.’

‘Perhaps you should mind your own business,’ you retort, your voice muffled against the bar.

‘Listen Anna, if you’re going to be acting like a bitch all night –’

Sitting up –not too fast though lest you want to throw up –you shoot Olaf a sloppy, apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, just I’m having a really shitty week.’ (More like year but he doesn’t need to know that.) ‘I don’t mean to be a bitch.’

He shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. ‘Just…take it easy for a bit ok?’

‘Aye aye captain,’ you tip your glass towards him in a mock salute. Bringing the glass to your lips you take a hearty draught of the amber liquid.

Your phone rattles against the counter again. Without bothering to see who it is, you shut the damn thing off and stuff it into your pocket. Kristoff really needs to stop babying you, you’re an adult now, you can do adult things damn it!

‘Olaf, one more please.’ You wave the empty glass in front of you.

Taking the cup he gives you the once over, his lips pursed in disapproval. ‘Anna I really think you’ve had enough for tonight.’

‘Just one more, and I promise to go home. Please.’

He gives you a wary look before hesitatingly pulling out the bottle from the shelf behind him.

‘Fine,’ he concedes, pouring you one last drink. ‘One more then I’m calling you a cab.’

You try –try being the key word here –to throw your arm around him in a one armed hug. ‘Thanks! You’re the bestest.’ You take a drink.

You black out.

The feeling of cool fingers prying your hand off the glass is what rouses you. ‘Whu…who’s that.’ Trying your best –but failing terribly –to open your eyes, you glance over at the person trying to help you. A shock of blonde hair is all you can see.

‘Kristoff…when did you get here?’ Your mouth feels as if it’s stuffed with cotton balls.

He helps ease you off the stool, one arm wrapped around your waist for support, while the other holding your arm that’s slung across his shoulders. ‘Can you stand?’ His voice seems so far away, the tone much higher than usual.

‘When…’you swallow, trying to regain control of your lolling head. ‘When did you get so short?’

He chuckles lightly, the motion jostling your head that has found purchase between his neck and shoulder. It’s odd, you never realized how much he smells like home, (like her.) You nuzzle deeper into his neck, your eyes barely keeping open. ‘Kris…I fucked up…she doesn’t love me anymore.’ You sniffle, trying hard not to cry.

He falters slightly, pausing for a bit to wrap his arm more securely around your waist. ‘You don’t know what you’re sa –’

‘He tried to kiss me! And I almost let him,’ you stumble over your feet, almost taking him down with you. The hand on your arm tightens a bit as his breath hitches. ‘B-but I stopped him. Because I l-love her…Kris I fucking l-love her…and she’s going to leave me…’ you swallow hard. ‘S-she’s going to hate me…’

You’re not sure how he manages to shuffle you to his car (you never knew he had a car,) though you are pretty certain you walked into a chair back there. If anyone asks the chair ran into you, not the other way around. He secures the seatbelt around your prone form, after successfully getting you into a sitting position in the seat. The car rumbles to life, your body sagging in the seat.

Closing your eyes, you press your heated forehead against the cool glass of the window, the lights flashing beneath your eyelids. You are never drinking again.

You’re not sure how you get out of the car, nor how he manages to get you up to your apartment. One minute you are sitting in the passenger seat, the next you’re in your bed the covers pulled up to your chin. ‘P-please don’t tell her…she can’t hate me.’

He brushes your bangs tenderly from your eyes. ‘She won’t hate you.’

His hand retreats, but you blindly reach out and catch the sleeve of his shirt. ‘P-please…’

‘I promise, she won’t hate you.’ He whispers.

You let go of his shirt, your eyes meeting his right before the darkness claims you.

Funny how you never noticed how blue his eyes are.

**-x-**

The pounding in your head is what wakes you.

Groaning loudly, you cover your face with your pillow in a feeble attempt to block out the sunlight filtering through the curtains. Whoever thought that having windows in the bedroom is a good idea should be thrown into the river. Using your arms for leverage, you push yourself up into a sitting position, scooting backwards until your back hits the headboard.

You press the palm of your hand against your forehead, hoping it will help abide your growing headache.

How much did you have to drink last night?

From the churning of your stomach, to the pulsating pain behind your eyelids it feels as if you consumed the whole bar. (Way to act like an idiot last night.) Cracking one eye open you glance over to the clock sitting on top of the night stand. The big red numbers - _10:45 AM_ –flashing in the dim room.

Thankfully, a glass of water and a bottle of Aspirin are sitting on the table as well. Prying the bottle open with unsteady fingers, you pop two pills into your mouth and chase it with a mouthful of water. The events of what happened last night are all a blur. All you can remember is demanding more drinks, a stinging pain on your right leg and Kristoff managing to drag you out of that damn bar. You should probably call Olaf later and apologize for your behaviour (you really are a fuck up aren’t you?)

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you pick up the glass of water and make your way towards the kitchen. Surprisingly enough Elsa is already sitting there, a look of concentration on her face as she stares down at the paper spread out in front of her. She chews the end of a pen absentmindedly, a quirk she developed over time, so you assume she’s probably doing the morning crossword.

‘Morning,’ she calls softly, her eyes never straying from the paper.

You plop down in the chair opposite of hers, grunting in response. Words are hard at the moment. Hell, thinking is hard at the moment. Taking another sip of your water you fold your arms over the table and rest your chin on top of them.

‘No class today?’ Your voice is low and husky.

‘Hm?’ She scribbles something in the paper, her tongue peeking out slightly from the corner of her mouth. ‘Oh, no…I decided to take an off day.’

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. For as long as you’ve known her, Elsa was not known to just take ‘off days’. She’s a keener, hell you can remember once when she almost cried when she thought she’d be late for a tutorial (my things have changed.)

‘That’s surprising.’

Her eyes flicker to yours. She smiles, you smile. ‘What can I say, I’m just full of surprises.’

You chuckle softly. Moments like this, while rare, are comforting. They remind you that maybe things can change. That maybe things could be how they used to be. (That you can feel how you did before.) Staring at her sitting across from you, nothing feels like it’s changed. She’s still the same old Elsa –the perfect girl, with the ice cold exterior when really she’s a big softy inside. And you’re still the same old you –a big klutz, who rambles and sometimes can’t keep their mouth shut. She’s perfect, while you’re not. She can have anyone she wants, so why the hell did she choose you?

(Why _is_ she with you?)

‘Here.’

She places a mug in front of you, the heady aroma of coffee filling your lungs. Sitting up, you clutch at the mug as if it were your lifeline and take a sip. You sigh in satisfaction –now that’s a damn good cup of coffee.

Sitting with your hands wrapped around the mug, you try to ignore the uncomfortable silence that settles. It’s happening again. Usually in moments like this one of you two would leave, the tension becoming so unbearable, the air thick with unspoken words that it was suffocating. You’re getting tired of this.

‘Are you happy?’

The question lingers, the scribbling of her pen stops.

You cringe.

‘And don’t lie to me, because I can tell when you’re lying.’

You’re too scared to look up, to see the look on her face. To see that same stoic expression, because she’s too scared to let you in (but when has she ever let you in.)

‘I…won’t say I’m unhappy.’ She puts down the pen. ‘But I won’t say this situation is ideal.’

Situation huh? Interesting how she didn’t say relationship.

‘You come home all the time smelling like you bathed in alcohol. At first I thought it was just a passing phase, but then those nights became more frequent. You not being here become more frequent.’ She pauses, and you glance up at her. She’s chewing on her lip, a pensive look on her face. ‘It’s not to say I’m not to blame as well. I spent more time at work because I thought that keeping myself preoccupied would make me forget. But then as time went on, I realized that sometimes I dreaded coming home. I wanted to be away from this. I wanted…’

‘…To be away from me.’

Her silence is confirmation enough. This telling-the-truth thing really does suck.

‘How…how did we become like this?’ Your voice wavers (don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t you fucking cry.)

‘I don’t know. We lost something along the way but I…’ She sighs, her eyes closing for a brief second. When she opens them, her gaze is so intense that you force yourself to not look away.

‘I love you Anna.’ She says it with so much conviction, that you forget to breathe. ‘I love you, and regardless of everything I will always love you. You’re it for me, but this…what’s happening…we can’t keep doing this. It hurts more to be with you, than to be without you.’

The pounding in your head returns. You clench the mug tight in your hands.

It hurts to be with you.

She’s hurting…because of you.

‘And I know that it’s hurting you too.’ Her voice hitches. ‘And I can’t stand it knowing that I’m the cause of that pain.’

‘Can we fix this?’ You’re too scared to ask the question as you’re unsure as to how she’d reply. Maybe she wouldn’t want to. Maybe she has given up. Maybe there isn’t anything worth saving anymore.

God it is too early (and you’re too hung over) to be having a serious conversation like this. But it’s too late, all the cards are on the table so all you can do now is see what you’ve been dealt and deal with it.

‘Do we really want to try?’ The fatigue in her voice is tangible. Taking a good look at her you never noticed how tired and worn out she is. Her usually vibrant eyes are dull, the spark that once captivated you missing. The usual poise she carries herself with is gone, as if the weight of all these problems are carrying her down.

‘I lied earlier. I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy in a long time.’ She smiles bitterly. ‘But you already knew that didn’t you?’

Draining the cup in one gulp, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and get up onto unsteady feet. ‘I’m going to take a shower.’

You can feel her watching you as you make your way to the bedroom.

‘And then what?’

Pausing, you grab the doorjamb for support as your shoulders slump forward. ‘I’ll stay at Kristoff’s for a bit. I… _we_ need this.’

She’s hurting because of you.

You’re hurting because of her.

You never smile anymore.

When was the last time you heard her laugh?

(Why are you both so fucked up?)

‘Ok.’ You barely hear her response.

How odd that this whole time you were scared of her leaving you, that you’re the one that’s leaving her.

God hangovers suck.

**-x-**

You’ve been crying the whole time you got there.

You kind of feel bad for Kristoff. You just unexpectedly showed up at his doorstep, tears streaming down your face as you crashed into him. Bewildered, the big guy just wrapped you up in his arms, stroking your back as he whispered comforting words into your ears. Looks like he’s fulfilling the second part of being your best friend. You’re not sure what you would do without him –well actually, you would probably still be crying but someplace less secluded with more people wandering about, but that’s beside the point.

Somehow you find yourself on his couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you sit with your knees pulled close to your chest. A box of tissues sits beside you, and you pluck one out to wipe at your runny nose. You are not ashamed to admit you’re an ugly crier –crying is not meant to be pretty. Sven, Kristoff’s ever faithful Bernese mountain dog, sits by your feet. Without a second thought you wrap your arms around the loveable pup and weep into his fur.

You must look like quite the sight right now.

The couch dips beside you, and you turn to see Kristoff hold out a mug towards you. Releasing Sven, you sniffle slightly and take the cup from his hands. You’re too tired and all cried out to even care that whatever is in the mug tastes like crap. Only Elsa can ever get it right. She knows you the best.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ He asks softly, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side.

You shake your head and place the mug on the table.

‘What do you need?’

‘I…I just want to be alone for now if that’s ok?’

He nods once, hesitatingly removing his arm from around your shoulders. Calling Sven over to him, he shuts his bedroom door with a soft _click_ leaving you alone to your own devices.

You’re not sure how long you sat there on the couch, staring off into space as tears streamed down your face. At one point you’re certain you fell asleep, a pillow –curtesy of Kristoff –underneath your head as Sven lays peacefully on the ground beside you.

How could you let this happen? You were so happy before, and now everything is just…so messed up.

Curling into a ball you wonder how you didn’t notice how things had started to change. Ok so that’s not true, of course you noticed how things started to spiral so wildly out of control. It started with the distance, first it was small, so unnoticeable until it became unbearable. She started to stay out later and in return you started to drink more. It was a small change, something you didn’t notice until one night she had failed to come home and you had woken up at Kristoff’s with the worst hang over ever.

But you both chose to ignore it, hoping that whatever problems you had would just go away over time. Instead it got worse, to the point where being in the same room with each other was suffocating. You both badly wanted things to stay the same, but failed to realize that in the process you were hurting each other. She’s going to leave, you just know it. Hell you would leave…you’re such a mess.

You wanted to talk about it, (God how you wanted to,) but you were too scared –too scared that by voicing your concerns she would realize she was too perfect for you, that you weren’t good enough for her. You thought by now you would be over that childish notion.

You thought by now you would realize how badly she loves you.

How badly you love her.

(What the hell are you doing here?)

Stifling back a sob, you press your palms to your eyelids.

Jesus Christ you are both so stupid.

‘Kristoff!’ You whip the blanket off of you, startling Sven in the process who bounds onto his feet and starts yipping away at your heels. ‘Whoa…easy boy…’you pat his head awkwardly. ‘Kristoff! I have to go.’

‘What?’ you hear his voice coming from the kitchen.

Getting to your feet you quickly make it to the door, finding your coat and quickly putting it on. ‘Where are my shoes? Goddamn Kristoff where are they?’

‘In the closet, jeeze relax.’

He steps out from the kitchen and watches as you hop on one foot, struggling to put the stupid thing on.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked, confusion written all over his face.

You straighten out, a wide smile on your face as you open the door and bolt out. ‘To put up a fight.’ You call over your shoulder.

‘Wait you idiot, you forgot your things!!’

Ignoring him you run down the few flights of stairs and out of his apartment. The cold air hits your face, as you open the door, your breath visible with every exhale. Pausing for a second to catch your breath, you start to giggle. It starts off quiet at first, but you just can’t help it and finally you start full out laughing. Your cheeks hurt –from the wind, from smiling too much, hell you have no idea –but you find that at this moment you don’t care.

You don’t care that right now you look insane –laughing in the middle of the sidewalk, coat not fully zipped, and just acting all around like a fool.

For the first time in a long time you’re starting to feel something.

(You’re actually happy.)

Heading in the direction of your apartment, you start running home.

You have to make things right.

You just have to.

**-x-**

The nerves set in when you reach your door.

Should you knock? You could just walk in seeing as it’s your place too…but what if she doesn’t want you there. Maybe you should knock. Raising your fist to the door, you rest your knuckles against the worn out wood, uncertainty replacing the elation you felt moments ago.

You can’t do this.

You’re going to back out.

What if she hates you?

(Oh fuck it.)

Pounding on the door, you wait with baited breath for her to answer. It’s now or never.

(You are so not ready for this.)

The sound of shuffling and the deadbolt unlocking sets your pulse racing. Your hands are clammy, your heart is pounding and your breathing laboured –you did just run all the way from Kristoff’s –but the minute the door opens a feeling of calm settles over you.

Elsa looks as if she’s seen better days. Her hair, which is usually perfectly braided, with her bangs swept back is a mess –stray locks of hair sticking out in every direction. Her red and puffy eyes, a clear indication that she has been crying all night, widen slightly at the sight of you.

‘A-Anna what…’

She takes a step back as you let yourself in, dropping your coat to the floor as you shut the door behind you.

A glass of whisky is clasped in her hand and you quickly take it from her, ignoring the small squeak of protest she makes. Tossing the drink back –you’re going to need all the courage you can get –you walk past her into the living room and set the cup down onto the table.

‘Anna, what are you doing h– ’

‘You know how I like my coffee!’ you blurt out, turning around to face her.

‘Wait, what?’ she asks, perplexed.

You grip your hair in frustration –ok so that wasn’t the first thing you wanted to say. ‘No I mean…ugh…ok…’you exhale sharply. ‘You know how I like my coffee, nobody else does. Everyone always screws it up I mean, it’s three damn sugars and one cream, how the hell do you mess something so simple as that up!?’

Her eyes scrunch up in confusion. ‘I don’t think I see the point…’

‘The point is you get it,’ you take a step closer to her, and grasp one of her hands lightly in yours. ‘You get me. You’re the one who knows me the best and you’re right, you’re so fucking right. We did lose something along the way. At some point we stopped trying, we stopped caring, and we were too scared to do anything about it.’

You take a deep breathe, trying your best to calm your beating heart.

‘I was afraid. Afraid that one day you would wake up and realize that this was all a mistake so when things started to go wrong I thought that if we ignored it, it would go away. It was stupid of me to think that.’

You grip her hand a little tighter.

‘But I’m done with giving up. I _refuse_ to give up.’ You shake your head vehemently. ‘I want to fix this, I know we can.’

Her eyes close and she takes a step back, her arms wrapping around her stomach. ‘And what’s to say this won’t happen again?’

‘Because you’re it for me too. I love you Elsa.’ You take in a shuddering breath. ‘I love you so fucking much that this, all of _this_ is worth it. I can’t promise you that things are going to be easy, that things will be the same but I can promise you that I won’t ever give up on you. I won’t ever give up on _us_.’

She lowers her gaze, her shoulders shaking and…are those tears? Panic sets in.

‘E-Elsa?! Oh my God I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,’ your hands hover over her shoulders, not sure what to do. ‘Do you want me to leave? I can go…I should g –’

Your first kiss in over a year tastes like cheap whiskey and tears.

At first you aren’t sure what is happening, her hands suddenly grabbing the sides of your face and pulling you towards her with so much force that you stumble slightly into her. Eyes sliding shut, your arms instinctively wrap around her, pulling her close as you kiss her desperately. You try your best to convey all the emotion –all the love, pain and longing –you felt for her over the past year in that one kiss. (Has it really been that long?)

Pulling away, she presses her forehead against yours, her breath ghosting over your lips with every exhale.

‘If you leave me now, I will personally kick your ass all the way to Kristoff’s.’ She brushes your cheeks tenderly with her thumbs.

Choking back a sob, you laugh. ‘If I try to leave now, I’ll let you.’

The sound of her laughter causes a swell of emotion to settle in your chest (God how long has it been since you’ve heard such a thing.) A watery smile tugs at her lips. ‘Idiot.’

Your second kiss tastes of love and forgiveness. While not as desperate, the feeling that it invokes is very much the same (I love you I miss you I’m so sorry.)

Things aren’t perfect –far from it –and sure this doesn’t mean that everything is fine. There are things you still need to work on, things that you both need to fix. But that’s ok, because you will. Things will get better because while things can go wrong (and considering you’re both stubborn people it probably will) the hurt and the pain is worth it just for moments like this.

Where your heart thunders in your chest as you pull her close, but never close enough. Where her hands cradle the back of your head as her lips move in tandem with yours. Where you know that even if you both act like idiots that she loves you, and you love her.

This feeling, the one as if you’re falling and flying all at once, is one you would never give up on.

(And fuck is it worth it.)

**-Fin-**

 

 


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